


TAMPERING WITH THE EVIDENCE

by EvanBlack



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, POV Fox Mulder, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanBlack/pseuds/EvanBlack
Summary: Finding Samantha and hiding my hard-ons - my life's work
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	TAMPERING WITH THE EVIDENCE

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not re-post to any other site without writer's permission.

Hey Scully! Remember when I came in my pants and had to chase down that mutant with my Armani's stuck to my groin?

How about that time I got kicked in the nuts while I was hard and I had to fake a hernia? Boy, how we laughed.

And don't get me started on being stripped naked and scrubbed with Lysol in those decontamination showers! They were very COLD, remember Scully? Please? VERY cold...

These are not the kind of romantic stories you want to be telling your grandchildren. These are the kind of stories that can't be measured against 'We met at the tennis club social and just KNEW' and 'We fell in love at a friend's wedding...' 

Of course, Scully and I don't have grandchildren. Or children. Or even eggs. I have sperm, I suppose - more than enough of it. But me having plenty of baby-making ingredients doesn't compensate for her having none. Oh, and the crucial part in the no-grandchildren scenario is that we've never slept together or even come close to it - so I know our grandchildren will never actually get to hear those stories. But they're still the ones I think about whenever something like that happens to me. Which is way more frequently than I think I deserve.

And that's why I work so hard to hide the evidence of my almost constant arousal from Scully - the thought of how she'd think about me afterwards: Thinking what a sad lonely man I am; what a typical horny loser; what a fucking pervert. 

The first hard-on I got around Scully was on our very first case when she pulled down her pants in front of me in Oregon. I mean, it was only to show me the small of her back where she thought she'd been branded by aliens, but hell, some cute redhead lowers her drawers to show me her butt and - sue me - I get hard. 

I had to sit on a floor, all scrunched up with a pillow in my lap and tell her about my sister, just to make it go away. And it took so long to go away that I told her pretty much my whole life story which is JUST what every woman wants to hear from some guy she hardly knows, right? That self-absorbed asshole in the corner? That would be me.

Since that case, it's been an obsession of mine not to let her find out I'm as sick as I really am. Obsession is not too extreme a word; finding Samantha and hiding my hard-ons - my life's work. 

For a start I had to buy a whole bunch of new suits that were so baggy in the crotch that my tailor, Mr Razzoni, took issue with my ego. 'Mr Mulder,' he said carefully, 'You're nicely proportioned, but really, you don't need that much space down there.' 'Mr Razzoni,' I told him just as carefully, 'I've just started working with a new partner. She's EXTREMELY attractive.' He raised his eyebrows, then chalked up the pleats and told me to wear more charcoal and less pale grey. He's Italian; I knew he'd understand.

I also had to wear different underwear. I'd always been a flannel boxers kinda guy, but suddenly my shorts were not just to cover me up, but to tie me down too. I needed something that was going to give at least some semblance of control if things got stirred up down there. 

I tried a range of different shorts and nothing was guaranteed apart from a jock strap, but I drew the line at that. After a lot of experimentation (and some embarrassing near misses) I finally found that boxer briefs one size too small for me was the most effective bar to my cock entering a room 10 seconds ahead of me. I had to take extra care to adjust myself inside them to be able to sit down and walk, and other challenging shit like that, but they hid an awful lot of growth.

The final last-ditch weapon in my anti-wood armory was to count backwards from 1000. I almost always fucked up between 981 and 979 and had to start again, which - for an Oxford grad - was usually humiliating enough to settle me down.

Of course, you have to realize that I'm talking about erections which occur pretty much spontaneously throughout the average working day. I'm not talking about the occasions when Scully actually touches me, or looks at me kinda sideways and smiles, or licks her lips, or bends over to get something from the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. If any one of those things happens (or any one of a whole bunch of other things) then all bets are off and my erections can range from 'probably visible' thru 'highly visible' all the way to 'might-as-well-unzip-and-throw-it-over-my-shoulder-visible'.

My foresight paid off. For years I think I got away with it. Man, I had some close calls though. That night lost in the woods when Scully tried to wrestle with me. I had to rock about in the foetal position like some weird armadillo to save both our blushes. And when she was hypnotized. I know she was remembering some terrible thing about people being burned alive all around her, and it was therefore completely inappropriate for me to get a raging hard-on, but she also made noises like she was having the mother of all orgasms, and held my hand at the same time, so I'm not going to be too severe on myself for that one. And then there was the time I put my arm around her after dinner at the neighbors' in Arcadia, and I had to cross my legs real suddenly. In fact, my whole leg-crossing technique has changed since meeting Scully. I used to do the ankle-on-the-knee cross, but with Scully around that's WAY too revealing, so now I do the English thing and hope she doesn't think I'm gay. Tightly crossed thighs and a strategically placed forearm and I could hide a rolling pin down my pants; which is what it often feels like, so it's just as well.

So anyway, back to the grandchildren. I don't know why I keep thinking about them. I shouldn't. Thinking about starting a dynasty with someone who's not in love with you seems almost as sick as thinking about them when you jerk off in the shower. Which I also do, so that makes me sick on two counts when it comes to Scully. 

And now I've thought about jerking off in the shower, I'm getting hard again with Scully a mere 12 feet from me finishing up her report. She gets up and comes over and I drop my feet off my desk and put the X File I was reading in my lap.

She leans on my desk the way she does, kinda bored, but bent towards me so that IF she EVER undid more than one damned button on her blouse, a guy MIGHT get half a glimpse of SOME goddamn thing. Still, she's pretty sexy even with all her buttons done up. Hell, Scully'd be sexy in a cardboard box.

'What do you want to eat for lunch Mulder?' she says and I say 'You Scully. With a side of fries.' 

Of course, I don't say that, even though that's what I wish I had the guts to say, and what I'd really like to eat for lunch - give or take the fries. 

'A sandwich,' I actually say, because I have no imagination that isn't dirty.

'Sounds good to me,' she says. Aw, she's so NICE to me! How come she's so sweet? Some boring A-hole says 'sandwich' and she says that sounds GOOD to her. Like I'd made a wise choice, a sound decision, some kind of innovative leap which she admires and applauds. Is it any wonder I love her? Seriously.

'What kind of sandwich?' she asks, so immediately I see me and... um... another me, making a Scully sandwich, and the X-File on my lap moves all by itself, so I have to put a hand on it to stop it sliding off onto the floor and revealing the sheer depth of my depravity. 

'Um, chicken?' Yeah, Mulder, as in squaaa-squaaa-squaaaa you yellow bastard.

'Oh yes,' she says, 'Chicken. I think I might join you.'

'Yeah, join me here on my swivel chair anytime you like Scully, sit right down on my lap and make yourself at home.'

'Okay,' I really say. 'Shall I go?'

'I'll come with you.'

Oh man. Please. You have to let me have that one! I'd have to be the fucking POPE not to enjoy THAT little double entendre to the full! Unfortunately, I'd also have to be the Pope not to have an erection that's now so urgent that I have to hold that X-File upright on my lap to shield the horrors there from the innocent eyes of my partner.

She picks up her jacket and gets to the door, then looks back at me still sitting there. 

'Coming Mulder?' 

Oh boy. This isn't fun any more. I've told her I want a sandwich. We've established that we're going to go buy it together; she's on her way. And I can't get up. 

I start counting. 

'Are you okay Mulder?'

992...991...990...

'Yes Scully,' I croak. 

984...983...982 

Okay. Okay. This is working. Slowly but surely. This is working. 

'Just got to turn this off,' I say in my most businesslike voice as I reach for my computer. I am the senior agent here, after all. I should be taking the lead in energy conservation.

973...972...Man, I'm really motoring here - passed my usual glitch-point. Oxford sure is a fine University. And I can feel everything receding, subsiding, ebbing. Oh, what a relief...

969.

969.

969.

69.

I'm stuck.

On 69.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Danger Will Robinson! Danger Danger Danger!

'Mulder! Are you coming?!'

YES! OH SHIT!! YES!

'Uuuugggh!!'

That's what I actually say: 'UUUUUUGGGH!!'

And then I double over and clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, cos that's the way these things happen, and shout 'FUCK!' just for good measure. 

Scully's at my side in an instant, her hand on my back, her eyes searching my face, trying to pull me upright to ascertain what the hell's the matter with me.

'Mulder what's wrong?!!' She's all panicky and I'm all sweaty and flushed with embarrassment so I have to lie fast and lie good.

'Cramp Scully. I just got a cramp in my leg, that's all. Jesus.'

'Let me see, Mulder.'

She's still trying to get me to sit up properly in my chair so she can get a good look but there's no way I'm unfurling for her. 

But Dr Scully's made of sterner stuff than Special Agent Scully - even without the gun. Dr Scully's a scary motherfucker if the truth be told, and Dr Scully suddenly yanks my hands away from my groin and touches me...

Right there.

I guess she was going for my quad but right at the moment a good portion of that muscle is covered by my half-hard cock and she jumps back like it's a dog that snapped at her.

She bites her lip and goes redder than I've ever seen her, which is quite the blush. 

We look at each other for a moment and then she says 'I'll get your sandwich Mulder. If you've got a cramp.'

'Okay Scully. Thanks.'

'Chicken, right?'

I sigh into my blotter; I've let the grandkids down again.

'Yeah, Scully. Chicken.'


End file.
